As a very young man, Christopher had read Turgenev and Chekhov and had yearned romantically for the steppe, the immense land- ocean which stretches east, unbounded, to the Ural Mountains and then endlessly on across Siberia. At Mohrin, he was actually on the edge of that ocean. But the ocean seemed less inspiring, here, than it had seemed in London, ten years earlier. God, it was flat.
As a very young man, Christopher had read Turgenev and Chekhov and had yearned romantically for the steppe, the immense land- ocean which stretches east, unbounded, to the Ural Mountains and then endlessly on across Siberia. At Mohrin, he was actually on the edge of that ocean. But the ocean seemed less inspiring, here, than it had seemed in London, ten years earlier. God, it was flat.